


Wildfire

by infinite_blue



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal - Fandom
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Amputation, Angst, Bottom Will Graham, Emotional Hurt, F/F, F/M, Graphic Description, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Smut, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), Season/Series 04, Slow Burn, Stalking, Suicidal ideation if you squint, Top Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28198452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinite_blue/pseuds/infinite_blue
Summary: Will and Hannibal defeat The Great Red Dragon, working as a team for the first time. Injured, the pair disappear into the ocean below. Jack is left to clean up their mess, and cope with letting the most prolific serial killer get away, again.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Molly Graham/Will Graham, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	1. Wisps of smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the Chapter: Heavy in Your Arms by Florence and the Machine

There is a certain tenderness as he extends his stained hand towards Hannibal. His body trembles and his eyes cannot hold the intimate gaze the other fixes him with. Hannibal, equally shaky, takes his hand, pulling upwards. There is the grasp of an elbow, a touch of a shoulder, the rasp of Will’s breathing, and suddenly they are too close. Faces tilt towards each other, tension growing between them. There is the tiniest flicker of relief in Hannibal’s eyes as he breathes deep.

“See?” he breathes out, with the same earnest intent as Garrett Jacob Hobbes so long ago. Hannibal casts his eyes downward in haste, unsure of himself for the first time. “This is all I ever wanted for you.” Will breathes deeply, the pain in his side unbearable. As he takes his next breath, he lets the honesty in Hannibal’s words wash away all the physical pain he feels. He is about to respond when Hannibal adds on, too quietly, “For both of us.”

Will moves, eyes searching frantically for Hannibal’s. _It can’t be_ , he thinks, _He cannot say these words now. Not after everything they have been through. After all the betrayal and lies and pain, after endless, sleepless nights in an empty marriage longing for the one thing I knew I could never have_. Will wants to be angry, but instead, he feels joy. It starts in his toes, slowly bubbling up through his veins, caressing all the scars Hannibal has gifted him with, eventually reaching his lips, where he smiles. Pure and sweet bliss radiates from that smile, brightened by the full moon glow cast on his blood-streaked face.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs. In that moment, sharp pain cuts through his body, causing him to lurch forward. He lays his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, wondering if this will be the only chance he has to revel in the closeness of it all. Will cannot see the cautious contentment in Hannibal’s face. He barely registers the soft way his fingers tighten where they grip his shirt, or how he sighs when he finally rests his head next to Will’s. They live in that moment for the next eternity, but it’s over too soon. As gentle as a summer rain, Hannibal lets go of his control. He breaks down the walls of his mind palace. As quickly as one breath to the next, Will is free. The two are now equals in their relationship. This stirs something in him. Will moves the hand on Hannibal’s shoulder around his back and embraces him. The wind whispers an unspoken goodbye, and just like that, the pair disappear over the ridge into the icy water below.

***

Jack refuses to believe what he sees. One serial killer and one innocent man, bloody and bruised and….dead. The number of injuries is staggering. Stab wounds and scratches cover the body like paint strokes on a canvas. In most places, he is unable to identify what the artist used. He runs a hand over his face, wondering how the two most dangerous men in Baltimore, once again, escaped his firm grasp. He stares down at the Toothfairy’s lifeless corpse. He should start calling him Francis Dolarhyde, but that would mean acknowledging he wasn’t a monster. It would mean admitting he focused on the deeply disturbed man with a disability than on the beast who was prone to manipulating his best profiler. He feels his face burn in shame as he realizes he has let Will down yet again. _Jesus_ , he grimaces as he stares at the body, _are those teeth marks?_ He wonders whose blunt teeth tore chunks of flesh out of his throat. He contemplates if Will participated in plunging a knife into the already traumatized body. Will...the brilliant boy that he pushed too far. Jack lifts his gaze to the horizon, wondering if they are still out there. If they were, he would have no clue where to start. Surely not Florence, Hannibal left too much of a mess for any hope of returning. Perhaps he should let them go. He could retire and let someone else search out the Chesapeake Ripper and his companion. Like Achilles and Patroclus, the two were an unstoppable force, intertwined like century-old ivy. Jack could not try and separate them again without destroying himself.

The tell-tale zip of the body bag draws his mind back to the crime scene. He escorts the body out. Jimmy and Brian watch him go. They glance at each other when he does not acknowledge either of them. Turning back to their work, they dread the hours of cataloguing they have ahead of them.

“Like a hurricane, those two. Destroying a perfectly good house and for what?” Jimmy quips. Brian is quiet and this catches his attention. He opens, and promptly closes, his mouth, apologies left unspoken in the space between them. They have all lost too much, and no words will ever right the wrongs. He lifts his camera and snaps the next picture.

***

“You have got to be kidding me!” Another book is thrown, this time at an extravagant lamp. Margot stops it before it takes out its target. She, unsurprisingly, is calm and collected as her wife destroys their library. Fortunately, all the first additions were locked away. Margot had learned her wife has a proclivity for destroying expensive items when she was angry. She examines her manicured hand as another book sails across the room.

“Alana, please be rational!” placates Jack. He looks defeated, but stands there nonetheless.

“Rational? Really. I lost all rationality the moment you convinced me to release Hannibal into your custody. I shouldn’t have let him out at all, but especially not with Will involved. You forced my hand in the name of justice and I let you. I have told you time and time again to watch him, protect him, and what do you do? You throw him to Hannibal as one would throw a bone to a dog. You have no thought for the consequences of your actions and it may have cost him his life!” Alana is shaking with anger. Jack knows he deserves this, and thus remains silent. He will never be able to apologize because she will never be able to forgive him. There is a stillness, much like right before lightning strikes the earth, and Margot moves to stop her wife before she can reach Jack. Alana’s arm shakes as she aims the gun at his forehead.

“If he is dead, I will kill you myself!” she screams. With that, she collapses in her wife’s arms and lets loose a primal cry of despair. Both Jack and Margot are moved by the raw emotion in her voice, knowing the anguish the loss of a loved one can bring. There is no sound more honest than the cry of a grieving soul. She continues to shake in sob in Margot’s arms, and Jack takes this moment to leave the Verger mansion.

***

Molly is much more calm than Alana. She knows the moment Jack walks in the room. She has lost a husband before, and knows the look. She knows the gentle footsteps as they approach her like a wounded doe. The uncertainty of where they should place their hands. Should they hold hers in comfort? Should they clasp a coat or a coffee cup to ground themselves? Truth is, there is no right way to comfort someone whose heart you are about to break. “I’m sorry” is all Jack manages to whisper before his shoulders slump forward and he lets go of his composure. This titan of a man crumples to the unforgiving linoleum floor of the hospital. Silent tears wet his face. Quiet gasps escape in rhythm with the heart monitor. His body shivers and he is unable to stop the broken cry from escaping his lungs. _I can’t even tell her if he’s dead. Moreover, I can’t tell her that I know he didn’t go voluntarily. For all I know, she’s about to find out their love meant nothing to him._ Molly lays in her bed, both body and spirit broken. The nurse eventually comes to escort Jack out. She closes her eyes, longing for a time when she didn’t know or love Boy Wonder and his gruesome gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic so feedback is appreciated! This is my interpretation of Season 4. I will be updating this fic every Sunday. 5 chapters are already written, so I promise I will be back!


	2. Ashes to Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has moved forward, and a new serial killer is tearing up New England

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your support last week! I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Please let me know if there is anything you would like to see!
> 
> Song of the chapter: Table for One by Awolnation feat. Elohim

Jack stood in the doorway of his office, smiling as he looked down the hall at the figure coming towards him. It was chilly that morning, so rather than his suit, he opted for a soft sweater over his button down. He walks back into his office, leaving his door open so she can come in. Just as he’s sitting down, she knocks softly and enters, smiling apologetically. 

“Clarice, my dear, how are you? Besides late,” he jokes. The woman before him is Agent Clarice Starling, one of the FBI’s top agents and Jack’s closest friend. When she met him, part-way through her Academy training, Jack was in a dark place. Sleep eluded him, food disgusted him, and he could only be soothed by the bottle. He was still allowed to be an agent, but he was discredited and disgraced by the media and colleagues alike. Then he met her. She was quiet at first, but fierce towards anyone who questioned her place there. Her mind was sharp and imaginative, able to picture the way a killer walked in a room or what a hacker would have on his desk. She ran the training course everyday. He could observe her without hindrance this way. She moved with the grace of a panther, deadly with finesse, as opposed to the brute force of the bulls who trained with her. Intrigued, he took her on as an apprentice, where he worked with her on behavioral science as well as her general studies. She graduates today, but promised to come see him before she took her place with the others.

“Jack, you know me by now,” she laughs out. True, she usually is late. He nods in agreement, and says “Well, I think you should head to the gym. That’s where they’re staging you. As much as I would enjoy going over the case again, Martha might have my head if she knew I kept you from her schedule.” 

Clarice smiles and salutes with her first two fingers. “I will see you after, Jack,” she replies. She pauses, and then turns and walks out of the office again. 

He pulls out a neatly wrapped gift from his side drawer and sighs. He looks at it with nostalgia. He bought this for her around a year ago, but was too nervous to actually give it to her. Underneath the blue and silver wrapping paper lays a velvet box. He looks away.  _ I shouldn’t give it to her _ , he thinks,  _ She won’t like it. It could change things, and not in a good way.  _ He hasn’t felt this unsure of himself in regards to her ever. The gnawing in the pit of his stomach is not unlike the feeling of when he proposed to Bella. His eyes flit to the locked cabinet on the other side of the room. What he wouldn’t give for a drink right now. Instead, he turns on his laptop, opening the case file to the latest coroner’s report, hoping for a productive distraction. As the pictures load, imagery of that night returns to him. 

***

Despite there being no warmth or life in her hand, Clarice held it anyways. She did not spend the last moments of her life in comfort or peace, yet the thought of leaving her alone, exposed on the table, was unbearable. Twigs and dirt were scattered across her broken body. They would have to clean her up more before they could begin to document the damage. Clarice continued to stroke the back of her hand as she waited for Jack. 

Her death was the seventh in what one might consider a spree. Most bodies were found in the New England area, the first near Buffalo, New York. The girls’ skin had been removed in large swaths, almost always from the back or abdomen. The one comfort amongst all this tragedy is that they were not violated in a sexual manner. 

“Clarice.” Jack’s voice startles her out of her thoughts. She looks at him and realizes he has tears in his eyes. She knows how much pain this case has caused him. Every phone call, family after family, has left him -and his office- a mess. She will always pick him back up again, but all she can hope for right now is that they catch the monster soon. She goes to him, a hand on his forearm, catching his eyes. 

“Jack, this is not your fault. We are doing all we can. He’s working fast, and I know that we will catch up to him soon enough. Do not lose faith,” she says in a soothing tone. His guilt is heavy in the room, but he lets out a deep breath and nods. They find comfort in each other’s presence, dreading the inevitable arrival of the coroner. 

***

He stumbles out of his daydream as the tell-tale  _ ding! _ of the computer rings out in the silent room. He scrolls through endless images of mutilation before landing on the hand-written notes of the coroner.  _ Why are all small town coroners offended by computers?  _ he ponders as he starts deciphering the near illegible handwriting. 

The words were near identical to the six that came before. Each girl had been stripped of their clothing and kept in darkness. They were surprisingly hydrated, but were starved slowly. The killer beat them, that much was evident. Oddly enough, the trauma only occured to the arms and legs, as well as the fatal blow to the head. There was no evidence of bruising on the torso. This makes the seventh coroner who could not figure out that one mystery. Finally, the calling card: a cocooned moth jammed into the throats after death. It reminds him of the man so long ago, the one who wanted to revive the victims of an abuser by sewing them into the wombs of horses. It’s fascinating how the dark reapers grasp at the hope of rebirth. It is almost as if they resent who they were born as. 

Jack places his head in his hands, the images of each girl burned into his eyes, his memory. This certainly did not help. He’s not sure what to do about this case, just like he’s not sure what to do with the box next to him. Shouldering his jacket, Jack decides it’s best to walk around rather than stew in his own mess. 

***

The announcer calls out her name and Jack stands. He causes quite a commotion, whistling and clapping. A few people chuckle, but all clap with him. His eyes shine with tears. He is so incredibly proud of her and cannot wait to have her join him in the field as a full agent. He watches her blush, eyes flitting to him for a moment before she meets the director for a handshake and a photo. Her new badge glints in the sun, winking at Jack, almost as if Clarice herself was looking at him. He sits, trying to hide from others, a blush now burning his face. 

Next is her credentials, and then they call the next graduate. She glides the rest of the way across the stage. Jack likes to imagine her with her hair down, flowing in the wind, in a soft sundress that flutters around her. She is a tough agent, but she deserves to be wild, unrestricted in her movements, the exact opposite of the stiff uniform and tight braid. She deserves to move like the force of nature she is.

He is delighted when the director announces the conclusion of the ceremony. He is too warm in the afternoon rays, though part of it may be from his nerves at what comes next. The crowd bustles around him, and he joins them like a bee in a swarm. He cannot distinguish one form from another. He feels overwhelmed, and allows himself to be moved by the others. His eyes search for her, hoping to spot her bright smile or sparkling eyes. It’s all too much...and then time stops, and the crowd parts, just like in the movies.  _ There she is _ . 

Smiling in relief, he moves towards her and catches her in a hug. She laughs as he twirls her around, whispering a million congratulations in her ear.  _ Now or never,  _ he thinks. He finally puts her down and hesitantly brings out the gift, her name elegantly scrawled on the tag. Wide-eyed, she takes it, silently asking him if she can open it. He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets and kicking at the dirt. He hears the wisp of the ribbon, the crackle of the paper, and the gasp in her breath. 

He waits for her response. 


	3. Washed away by the Rain that Follows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflecting on the past five years, Jack discusses his relationship with Clarice and the dark secret he carries
> 
> TW: alcohol abuse, addiction, (minimal) suicidal thoughts/ideation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos! Please feel free to comment, I'm always looking for feedback 
> 
> Songs of the chapter: White Blank Page by Mumford and Sons, and Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me) by Nancy Sinatra

He paces around the stately office, muttering to himself. Alana can’t help but check her watch. Jack is normally not this agitated or withholding, but any time she tries to ask him a question, he goes quiet again. She deduced that it has something to do with Clarice. They would have announced if it was another kidnapping or killing of the Sculptor, and that’s the only other thing that could torment him this much. He sits, left knee bouncing in a fast cadence, his right hand picking at the seams of her expensive leather couch. 

“I gave it to her,” he whispers. Her head snaps up in shock, wondering if he really means  _ it _ . 

“I’m assuming we are talking about the necklace you had made?” she prodes, hoping this is her opening. He sighs, the  _ tap tap tap _ of his foot constant, and nods gently. 

“I had it ready. All wrapped in shiny paper. It was engraved, I wanted it to remind her that she has changed me for the better, and not just because she helped me sober up. I knew I should wait for her graduation, FBI red tape and all. I wasn’t sure how she would respond, but I don’t think laughing was one of the scenarios I imagined. After all, it’s not every day your mentor hands you a smashed bullet on a chain.” He erupts into a laugh, suddenly feeling the same emotions she did. 

“The bullet is an important symbol to the both of you. When her finger pulled the trigger that night, the bullet that left her gun lodged in you and tethered you together like the red string of fate,” Alana muses, “Does she realize it’s the very same one she left in your chest?” Jack nods, rubbing the scar through his shirt absent-mindedly. 

“Would you mind telling me more about that night?” she asks. Jack looks at her, hesitant. Then he nods, so gently she almost misses it. 

“You need to go back further, back to the night they left.” Alana tenses. “Will and …..they left that night and took part of me with them. The hope. The sureness. Will dreamt up the plan. I was sure he was going to take out both the Dragon and Ripper in one go. He was good and honest. When they disappeared, I stopped acting like a normal human. I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t sleeping. They gave me time off from the FBI -figured I could use it after making a fool of myself. I wandered my house day after day. I scoured the tabloids and took note of every minor event that could have been evidence of their survival. I tried to take evidence to my colleagues, my supervisors, anyone with authority. Hell, I even went to Freddie Lounds for god’s sake.” He hits the arm of his chair and stands up again. Alana doesn’t push him, knowing he isn’t finished. “That was a mistake. I took all of my clippings to her, all my thoughts, and she published them in an article that labeled me as a ‘has been who holds onto the glory days by inventing evidence’. She didn’t even believe me when I told her about Bedelia. She exposed my...habits. I figured that was the end of me.” He pauses, strangely calm as opposed to the raging anger he usually held in his heart. Possibly Clarice did indeed change him. 

“Jack? May I ask about your….habits, as you call them?” Alana gently prodded. He sighs. Talking about this is not easy for him, and she knows she’s taking a risk asking him to discuss it. 

“I drink, Alana. A lot. I used to like the occasional drink, but after they left...I really liked it,” he states, hoping his voice isn’t shaking. He twists the ring on his finger and starts his pacing again. He is silent for a good long while, well aware that he will have to talk about it. “I started with the wine. Be--Bella,” he stutters, “she really liked wine. Had so many luxurious bottles. They were pretty and she wasn’t there to have them, so I might as well. I liked the wine, but it stopped being strong enough. It didn’t burn away the ache in my heart, the guilt in my lungs. So I went out in search of scotch. And bourbon. And whiskey. I tried tequila and vodka. Whatever I could find. I drove to the stores across town to hide my shame. Until the day I no longer felt anything, and therefore did not care where I found my liquor. I was a mess, Alana,” he laughs out as he turns towards her. She smiles a bit, in a sympathetic manner, knowing how much he must want to break sobriety now. 

“Want to know what the worst part was? They let me come back to the FBI. They let me into the field. I was in charge of my team again. I’m not sure how that was allowed. I know Jimmy could smell the bourbon on my breath, that Brian routinely called other investigators for a ‘second opinion’ when I was too drunk to walk straight. They never turned me in. They stuck by my side when they shouldn’t, something I really need to thank them for.” He stops and stares at the floor. He doesn’t like this next part at all, but knows it’s an important piece of his story. 

“Then, it happened. The night, I mean. There was a lull in the cases, and I had a chance to help the Academy with a training scenario. I used to love doing those, Alana. I played pretend, acting as a civilian, a victim, a killer. It was all for fun, and the trainees enjoyed working with me, the founder of the Murder Museum. That night, I was playing one part in a killing team. The trainees were given the task of negotiating a hostage rescue with as little damage as possible. We used one of our abandoned buildings. It was going well, when I foolishly decided to elevate the situation,” he whispers, his eyes growing dark, 

“‘Split them up’ I said. ‘Make it so they have to infiltrate the building’ I said. Foolish. Arrogant. They entered the building, as I expected. Clarice...she was in the pack that came after me. They followed all my signs, fell into my trap. Except her. She was intuitive, and broke off from the group. They had weapons, of course, loaded with blanks. She crept around the halls, gun cocked and aimed in front of her. I could feel her presence close to my hiding spot. The goal was not to hide forever, but in my drunken state, I was paranoid. As she rounded the last corner, I charged at her. She shot. That’s what she was trained to do, we all know we need to protect ourselves from a criminal who tries to hurt us.

“Bang! Bang! She shot me. She shot me twice, actually. But there was a mistake, my chest hurt, and I was on the ground. I couldn’t breathe, I thought I was being suffocated. I heard her voice cry out for...something. Someone. I tried to sit up and she pushed me back down. Sirens wailed, people were running everywhere. I just wanted to know what was going on but all I could do was try and breathe. They took me away on a stretcher, I think I was yelling at the EMTs, at the training coordinator, anyone I could see. They sedated me after I took a swing at someone.” 

His face burns with shame, remembering how they told him he broke someone’s hand while they held him down to administer the drugs. 

“I was lucky,” he continued, “I was lucky because part of training is wearing a bulletproof vest. Despite there being a mistake, despite there being real bullets in her gun, I didn’t die. There was severe bruising all along my chest, and a cut where one of the bullets hit. I still have the scar, weirdly enough. The doctors told me they were surprised to find I hadn’t broken a rib, which could have punctured a lung and made things way worse. It’s pure luck I’m alive. I…..I should have died that night,” he mumbles out. He melts to the floor where he stands, holding back a cry. She takes this moment to comfort him, rubbing his back in soft circles like she does with her son when he’s hurt himself. 

After a bit, she pushes him. “I’m going to make an educated guess and say you’re not really talking about the shooting.” He flinches. 

She continues, “If you’re anything like me, you wish you had died the night he left for Florence. You dream of pulling out the glass from your neck and letting go of your life. It would be easier, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t have to face him. No one could blame you for his escape. I dream of that too, Jack. The fact I can face anyone in my profession is a miracle of therapy. But...you held on that night. You fought for life and then you chased him for revenge. From what the authorities say, you beat him within an inch of his life. You captured him later. You rose from the ashes, and felt safe again. You brought peace to all of us. And  _ that _ is worth celebrating.”

He looks up at her, tears in his eyes, and takes a rasping breath. “I lived, Alana,” he whispers. 

“You did. You are alive,” she confirms. He hugs her, and then stands. They both return to their seats, enjoying the comfortable silence, the air no longer tense in the space between them. 

“Did she really laugh?” Alana asks, blushing suddenly. She didn’t mean to say that out loud, however, she might as well find out what happened. Jack laughs, a big hearty laugh that starts in his chest and ripples out into the office like warmth from a fire. Wiping away the few remaining tears, he nods. 

“She really did.”


	4. Flicker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions are answered for the first time since Will and Hannibal disappeared into the ocean 5 years ago. 
> 
> TW: graphic violence, amputation, stalking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I cannot wait to see what you think. Please leave a kudos and comment, I love the feedback!
> 
> Songs of the chapter: Everything Was Beautiful by Cruel Youth, Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley

The water dripping from his hair is cool against his warm, sun-kissed back. This is how he spends most of his days: a morning swim in the private cove, long afternoons reading and tanning. At least, that’s what he does when he’s not doing this. Hips shift below him, and he throws his head back. 

He wonders if this could be enough. Swimming, reading, sex, repeat. He wonders if there is a day he won’t fear the images that permanently tainted his mind. A warm chest is pressed against his own, and warm lips kiss the scar on his shoulder. He brings his arms around the shoulders of his lover, sighing with contentment. 

“Hannibal” he breathes out. The older man gazes up at Will, his eyes filled with curiosity and the slightest bit of awe. He breathes calmly -how he always manages to do that, Will would never know- and his mouth tilts into the smallest smile. He moves his hips again and smirks as Will gasps, short nails digging into his back. 

“Yes mielasis?” he whispers. Will groans. Lithuanian rolls off Hannibal’s tongue as smooth as chocolate and as sweet as honey. They move in tandem, their bodies familiar with the other. A brush of fingers here, a heavy palm there. The sweet caress of canines on Will’s collarbone nearly sends him over the edge. 

“There is someone watching us, my sweet boy,” Hannibal mutters, a hint of jealousy in his voice. He grabs the man on top of him tight and rolls them over. Will lets out a breathy moan and grins when a hand slides up his chest and around his throat. His lover is possessive, all consuming, and will stop at nothing to make sure the world knows it. He doesn’t mind, he knows he made Hannibal wait too long for him. The pace quickens. Will’s fingers tingle with soft pins and needles. He can only see the man above him, his vision fuzzy around the edges. His heart is beating in his limbs and he can taste pure pleasure on his tongue. He whines and Hannibal laughs. 

“Tell me Will, does that excite you? Do you like displaying your affection for me where others can see? Do you take pleasure in lighting the fire inside me that burns the eyes of voyeurs, wanted and unwanted?” His words are lost on the man below him but he continues nonetheless. “Let them see, mielasis. Let them pleasure themselves with the image of your unraveling. Let go, my love.” 

Will cannot contain himself anymore, cries of bliss erupting from his chest. Hannibal is close to follow. He collapses on the silky sheets of their poolside daybed as Will leans up on his elbows and looks around for the mystery watcher. Hannibal strokes his arm in comfort, silently reminding him they have nothing to fear. With a heavy sigh, he gets up as Will relaxes again. 

They have a privileged life here. Will was surprised when they arrived at the mansion. Full staffed and fully stocked, it was like his lover had this all planned out since the beginning. They are isolated from the rest of Cuba, their own private resort. A distant scream breaks his reflective daydream. Hannibal only satisfies his appetite when someone violates their privacy. He finds it rude when prying eyes dare to look in. He sees a body being dragged onto the patio, and he closes his eyes to preserve some of his own peace. The sun warms his skin, and he allows sleep to take him while he imagines the delicacies he will enjoy at dinner.

***

He looked through the binoculars and sucked the cold winter wind into his lungs. He breathes out slowly through his nose, knowing no one can see him but hoping to keep himself concealed regardless. His line of sight is moved to the large bay windows on the side of the house. The cream silk robe slipped off Bedelia’s shoulder sometime ago. If only she knew he was watching her. Perhaps she would consider wearing something with a bit more substance. Delia wasn’t one to shy away from flaunting herself. 

She reads quietly in her lavish study, lipstick-stained wine glass in hand. She chose a wonderful red. Will scoffs at the irony and leans back on the rough bark of the tree. His back is no longer tender, all thanks to the good Doctor Lecter. He knows that somewhere below him, he is pacing, eager to hunt. He laughs to himself. She once asked him if he aches for Hannibal. _I wonder if her words are what led me to choosing him that night_ , he wonders. Words fail to express aloud just how much he needs the other. Life without him is like trying to breathe while running in the cold, the air able to sustain him but not enough to fulfill him. Will hopes that his actions tonight will speak for him. 

He had begged Hannibal for this opportunity, pleading with his large doe-eyes. Unable to resist, they found themselves here, waiting for the lights to go out in the Du Maurier house. Waiting for the air to change with the thick scent of sleep so that Will may prove he is worthy of trust by crossing the line from observing to participating. He closes his eyes and focuses on the cool air whipping around him. Time passes as gentle as the snow falling around him. 

A whistle cuts through the howling wind. He perks up, an obvious _look, watch, pay attention_ message in the docile tone. A message from Hannibal. He brings his binoculars up, finding his target once again. She has fallen asleep in her lounge chair, book on the floor; the wine glass dangles from her fingertips, threatening to stain the Persian rug below. The hunter in him says this is not the time to strike, her body not deep enough in sleep. He moves anyway. 

By the time he reaches the forest floor and rendezvouses with Hannibal, they are perfectly timed to enter her home without disturbing her. Hannibal presses a hand to the middle of his back as Will enters the house. Ever since that night, he cannot resist putting his hands on the younger man. Brushing his hair away from his eyes, caressing his arm when he leaves their house, even holding his hand for a bit while they sit and read. As much as he enjoys it, Will knows that they have a job to do, and glances at the other with a warning stare. They quietly approach the study. They flank the two entrances in their socked feet, quiet as deer in the newly fallen snow. They decided that he would approach her from behind so he could make the capture. Will takes a deep breath and steps into the room. 

Bedelia is awake. She is pointing a handgun at Hannibal, her shoulders tense. “I knew you would come for me,” she states calmly. Her other hand rests on the arm of her chair, trapping the soft velvet in an iron-grip. Will treads carefully across the carpet behind her. “I knew you would survive, you always do, and you would not be able to resist consuming me as you did so many before me. It’s unfortunate that your beloved patient isn’t here to join you.” Will smiles wickedly at Hannibal. She doesn’t realize they both survived. The other is skilled enough that he does not dare sneak a glance upwards, lest they waste their advantage. 

“It was inevitable,” he responds, “Since the moment you spoke to him in prison, you secured your fate. Your betrayal of my trust justified my decision, and you kept betraying me. Over and over, as if you meant to taunt me.” Will’s guilt trips him on the soft carpet. Hannibal may have forgiven him, but the weight of his faults rests heavy in his heart. 

The other continues, “I shared with you knowledge no other had known before. I turned to you an honest man and you turned away from me in favor of drugs. I might have forgiven you if you had accepted me for who I am, embraced the parts of me you found repulsive. One simple act could have erased all the errors that came before.” Will knows most of these words are for him. Hannibal could forgive him, if he does this one thing. 

“A thousand lifetimes could come and go, and yet you’d still fail to find the acceptance you have been searching for,” she spits out, cocking the gun. Will moves, pulling her shoulder back as he brings the knife around to her throat. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Bedelia,” he murmurs in her ear. He can’t help himself from looking up at Hannibal with an apology in his eyes. He moved too fast, he didn’t follow the plan. To his surprise, the older man is chuckling. 

“Drop the gun if you want to keep that hand. My boy is very protective of me.” She complies, knowing Will won’t hesitate to hurt her. He grabs her arm, forcing her to stand. 

“We have plans for you, dearest. We’re having a dinner party and you need to be ready for it,” Will sneers. He guides her to the bedroom, leaving Hannibal to set up his workstation. He shoves her into the room, and utters, “Pick out your nicest dress. We want you looking beautiful.” She picks a dress, and turns back to him. He nods to her, eyeing her up and down. 

“Surely you don’t expect me to change in front of you. You wouldn’t find it….” she trails off. 

He huffs out a laugh. “No, Bedelia. It wouldn’t bring me any pleasure. You do need to be unclothed, Hannibal requested it for your surgery.” He could see the fear in her eyes as realization hit her. If only she knew just exactly what they had planned for her. She must have known not to argue, since she undressed and stood shivering before Will. He examined his knife, checking the edges for sharpness. As stunning as her form was, he knew that Hannibal would make him pay for having eyes on anyone but him. He hears a whistle and knows it’s time. He takes a deep breath. It’s time to earn Hannibal’s trust.

***

Goosebumps erupt on her naked flesh as she lies on the clear plastic. Her soft curls are buoyant enough to cushion her head, but that is her only comfort. Stars dance on the ceiling as the fire glints off the silver of the sterile instruments. Her hands are shaking, and tears well in her eyes. _This is how it all ends_ , she thinks. The gentle shuffle of the pair around her sets her nerves alight. 

“Roll to your side, Bedelia,” Hannibal instructs. Disdain fills her face, yet she sighs and moves to lay on her left side. A strong hand clamps down on the side of her neck, a silent threat. Sharp pressure startles her, building where her neck meets her spine. He pushes the plunger down slowly, massaging her neck as the clear fluid enters her body. He guides her body back to the table, so gentle and soft she almost believes he could care for her. 

Will observes this process from the window sill, fingers white as snow from gripping the edge tightly. The lighting covers the flush in his face, his leg bouncing subconsciously. The pit in his stomach has grown to consume his insides, stress reaching every crevice of his soul. He tries to focus on Hannibal, the confidence resting in his shoulders and the excitement enticing subtle tics in his fingers. His hair is loose, unlike his normally pristine style. He knows that the older man no longer feels the need to wear his person suit, and therefore can let his appearance be more rugged and raw. 

“It’s time, mielasis,” Hannibal murmurs as he walks towards Will. The pair steal a moment to look into each other’s eyes, quietly confirming their readiness. Will breathes deeply through his nose, pushing off the sill as he exhales. 

“Now Bedelia, dear, this will be rather unpleasant for you. As much as he disagrees with me, I insisted that you be left alive,” Will remarks, “It is not merely enough that we consume you, lest you destroy us. You betrayed him, cut him deep. Not only did you share knowledge with the FBI of Hannibal and his whereabouts, you blatantly ignored your own participation in his activities in Baltimore and Florence. You are no white dove, Delia, you are not clean of all sin. You killed your own patient, you killed that man in Florence, and you will deny it to your dying breath. For that, you must be punished.” He picks up the pristine circular saw, and lowers his protective glasses. 

He turns on the saw, a low whirring sound joining the crackle of the fire. He approaches the table, a malicious smile on his face. Hannibal takes his place opposite of Will, a glint of arousal in his eyes. 

“I am taking your left leg, just above the knee. You will be as crippled as you left Hannibal, helpless and vulnerable until you find the strength within yourself to rise above. You will live with the guilt for the rest of your pitiful existence,” Will states, a finality in his words. He turns towards her leg, a calm washing over him like a gentle river. He exhales at the first cut of the skin, smooth as butter. Blood spatters like a painter’s brush across his face. It is hot and lush, staining everything it strokes. Focus flows through him, allowing him to soldier on. The saw smarts as it strikes bone, the soft hum crescendoing into a high-pitched whine. Vision blurry around the edges, he puts his weight on the saw, waiting for the familiar _crack!_ of bone separating from bone, much like the sound of a tree branch falling. Blood flows across the table and pours over the edge like a full cup. 

He stops the saw, staring at his carnage below him. Bedelia is crying, the epidural preventing her body from shaking with the fear coursing through her veins. Her litany of pleas laced with curses echo into the room. He is breathing hard, processing what he just did. 

Hannibal rounds the table, embracing the younger man before he can collapse on the ground. Small encouragements are whispered into his ear, grounding him to reality. His legs gain their strength again, and he moves himself away from the table to allow the doctor to work. 

***

Will cleans up while Hannibal takes care of dinner. He’s preparing loin and will not be out of the kitchen for several hours. Will wipes the blood off the counter and the body of their latest victim. He knows that everything must be pristinely clean. Blood in the hot Cuban sun has the worst scent, and lingers worse than any other stain. He knows Hannibal would not approve of anything but perfection.

A calm whistle traveled out to the patio, catching his attention. Will knew this was his cue to hurry up and join his lover in the kitchen. Chef he was not, but the other enjoyed the company and was always eager to showcase his talent. 

“This life suits you, Will,” Hannibal muses as he watches the man enter the lavish kitchen. He blushes. Compliments are still foreign to him, and it doesn’t help that Hannibal decided to leave him vulnerable by getting fully dressed. He made his way around the kitchen, leaning on a counter near his lover in case he was needed. It wasn’t often, but Hannibal did enjoy giving Will small tasks to perform. They both take pleasure in the mundane acts of domesticity, from cutting strawberries on a warm summer afternoon to making the bed together after a lazy Sunday morning. 

“And does this life suit you, Dr. Lecter?” Will asks, a glint of mischief in his eyes. The other fixes him with a small smile, continuing to chop the vegetables that will make up the broth. Will moves to pour them some wine. His favorite choice is a Cascina Baricchi Rosé. It goes for eighty-six dollars a bottle but Hannibal is more than happy to spoil him. 

“I find this life simple and quiet, something I am not used to,” Hannibal responds as he accepts the wine. “I lived a lush life, filled with opera, dinner parties, anything and everything I could want. However, I have found enjoyment and entertainment in the time we’ve been here, despite the lack of the lavish social events of my past. It has been a unique experience, spending time with you as the most honest version of myself. It is a gift, and for that I am grateful. You are a gift, my beautiful boy.” He takes a sip, and murmurs with soft approval. Will hides his small smile by turning towards the large bay window by the dining table.

“I am going to take a shower,” Will replies, blushing, intentionally avoiding the compliment. Hannibal hums acknowledgement, and turns back to the stove. He pads down the hallway to their bedroom, stripping off what little he was wearing.

_I_ _t has been a unique experience_ , he thinks to himself, water pouring down his tanned skin. _Watching Hannibal love me honestly and wholeheartedly, treating me as his equal. He seems to find the deepest parts of my soul, caressing it gently like the tide rolling over sand. I see him as well, nothing is barred from my viewing. Molly had affection for me, even Alana cared for me for a short time, but all seems bleak compared to the pure, unconditional devotion Hannibal Lecter has for me. I felt it when he bandaged my bruised and bloody hands. I felt it when he took Abigail and ripped my body apart. I felt it the moment he saw me in Florence the first time. I felt it every time he broke me and put me back together. He loves me, and I love him. I know that now._ He breathes a ragged breath. He knew it the moment they left Bedelia’s house all those years ago.


	5. Gasoline Trails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will recalls the night they left for Cuba, and a turn of events will lead to problems for Jack. 
> 
> TW: stalking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying something new. Thank you for all the support!
> 
> Songs of the chapter: NFWMB by Hozier, Lightning Riders by Awolnation

_ Did I pack everything up? I can’t leave anything behind, it’ll only make things more difficult for me. Did I remember all my clothes? Check. Wallet, keys, phone, perfect. Wait. No. Leave the phone. I can always get another one. Stupid. It’ll be too easy for someone to track me if I kept the phone they gave me. Way too easy. Ok keep going. I cleaned up. One more sweep and I’ll be ready to leave. _

Car doors slam as Will and Hannibal get in the car, ready to leave. Will throws his packed bag into the back seat, and absent-mindedly feels his pockets one last time for his wallet. Bedelia is asleep in her bed, thanks to the dose of tranquilizer Hannibal administered after dinner. He gave her just enough so that she wouldn’t overdose, allowing the pair plenty of time to drive before she alerted the FBI. 

Will grasps the other’s hand, looking for a small bit of comfort before they tear down the east coast. A soft hand rests on his cheek and the cool touch of a kiss brushes his forehead. The warmth of contentment travels through his body, calming him. The hand drops and the engine roars to life. He can hear a faint  _ click-click-click!  _ as the car shifts into gear. Gravel crackles beneath the wheels as they pull out of the driveway, the Du Maurier mansion, cloaked in darkness and silence, fading behind them.

***

_ Those headlights are so bright. Why do so many drivers keep their brights on? They’re going to blind me someday, I know it. Maybe if I slow down they will go around. Jerks. I can’t believe they’ve been behind me so long.  _

Will adjusts the temperature in the car for the second time. The air around them had steadily warmed the further south they drove. He couldn’t risk getting too warm, lest he fall asleep at the wheel. Sleep eluded him during his time as the passenger. He was gently chastised for not using his time appropriately, but the warm caress on his knee told him Hannibal was just as worried as he was. 

He peers at the headlights behind him. They mirror his choices, no matter how odd. If Will slows down, so do they. Lane changes and turns are on a time delay, but the driver of the other vehicle persists nonetheless. He glances to the seat next to him. The gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach grows, twisting and turning like the thoughts in his head. He should wake Hannibal. He reaches out, hand pausing mere inches from his sleeping form. 

“What is it, my boy?” a deep voice murmurs. Will brings his hand back faster than if it was bit by a snake. After all this time, he is surprised by how cognizant Hannibal is at all times. He mumbles something quiet, prompting the older man to open his eyes, blinking as he stretches the sleep out of his arms and shoulders. 

“Why did you wake me?” he asks again more sternly, shifting to sit up straight in his seat.

“I think someone is following us,” he whispers, looking into the rearview mirror. He changes lanes to pass a small car. Clever eyes watch the side mirror as he does this, noticing how the dark car behind them moves to do the same almost immediately, like a small delay on a television screen. An exit sign appears ahead of them, the bright green glowing like a beacon. 

“Listen to me very carefully. You need to get in the left lane, right now,” Hannibal instructs. Will complies, and their shadow follows. The engine roars as the gas pedal hits the floorboard. Murmured instructions cause Will to protest, faith wavering. 

“Are you sure about this, Hannibal?” Will whispers. A hand touches his on the steering wheel, a small comfort. 

“I have never been more secure in a decision, my boy,” he reassures. Tires squeal, the car veering off to the right. Hannibal’s hand continues to pull the wheel towards the exit. Several horns wail into the silence of the night as their car cuts off traffic. Will takes over, a steady focus washing over him as he presses down on the gas. The pair are jostled in their seats as tires traverse the terrain between the highway and the off ramp. 

Behind them, their stalker attempts the same maneuver. A quiet fills the air as the SUV tilts, and Will watches in awe as it begins to roll. Metal screams against concrete, and cars screech as brakes engage, attempting to avoid further injury. 

“Drive. We need to use this distraction to our advantage,” Hannibal states calmly, as if the past few minutes had no effect on his composure. Will silently nods, still slack-jawed, and guides their car up the ramp, away from the wreckage. 

***

_ I shouldn’t be here. I thought the drink would calm my nerves but lord this is not helping. I shouldn’t have stopped the car. I have no idea…why are the hairs on the back of my neck standing up? Why do I feel eyes? So many eyes, caressing my form like unwanted hands. It’s a violation of my privacy. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I need to get out of here. _

His chair screeches as it grinds against the floor of the bar, causing several patrons around him to look over. Taking one last gulp of his whiskey, he throws a twenty next to his half empty glass, fixing the bartender with a knowing stare. His coat is by the back entrance, which will make for an easy exit. He doesn’t hear the brush of a body moving through the crowd behind him, or the delay in the whine of the door as it shuts. 

The air in his lungs is knocked out of him as he slams against the wall behind the bar. He whips around, searching for his attacker. 

“We’ve been watching you for a long time now,” snaps the assailant. Will’s fists move, but they never reach their target. A quiet  _ crack! _ cuts through the air. Will is frozen where he stands, wide-eyed, gazing at the limp corpse that leaks ruby red blood onto the dark cobblestones. He hears the scuffle of shoes. A strong body presses him against the bricks, fingers tangling in his hair. They stroke his scalp gently before tightening, pulling his head backwards. He cries out, the pressure too much, too fast. 

Eyes find eyes. One pair is wide-eyed, curious; the other is dark, full of worried relief. A hand releases its iron-grip on his soft strands and caresses his cheek, then pulls him to the crook of the other’s neck. This shakes him out of his daze, and he wraps his arms around the torso in front of him. The pair stand there, tightly wrapped around each other. The hand in his hair returns to gently stroking, and after some time, they unravel themselves. Hannibal tilts Will’s head up again, and kisses him. He is not gentle, nipping at his lips and exploring his mouth with his tongue. He wants to consume all of him at once. Will relinquishes control, knowing his lover needs this to feel safe again. They break apart, and they rest their foreheads against one another. 

“Hannibal,” Will breathes out. He is hushed with a gentle  _ shh _ . Hands grab at his arms, his shirt. What they are searching for, he doesn’t know. Possibly for injuries, more likely for a sense of sureness. He places both hands on the older man’s face, forcing eyes to meet once again. 

“Hannibal, I’m here. I’m safe. They barely touched me,” he placates. He looks at the other earnestly, trying to pull him back from whatever rage-induced daydream he’s currently in. It is unusual for him to hold eye contact this long, but he persists. He cannot allow the anger to fester within his lover. 

“Any attempt at your life is a personal offense, one I will not take lightly. Should I lose you…the thought is unfathomable. The guilt of your death would weigh heavy on my soul, and the vengeance I would reap would bring God to his knees,” he finally whispers. He continues to hold the smaller man close, the pair breathing in tandem to soothe the other. 

“We should leave. We don’t know who else is watching us,” Will mutters. Hannibal nods in agreement.

***

_ Keep running, keep running, don’t slow down. They are going to catch you! _

Hannibal’s legs are sore. He hasn’t run like this in a long time, fast and slow intervals. Will is injured, his ankle severely hurt. He continues to limp along, crashing through the forest like a large beast. Quieter footsteps follow the pair in their cleared trail, approaching closer with every passing breath. They only need to make it to the boat, and they will be safe.

Hope sweeps through each man as the trees begin to thin out, the sound of water lapping the rough shore increasing as they near it. They are going to escape. They are going to be safe.

***

_ God you need to breathe quieter. They are going to hear you, find you, take you. And then what? You’ll probably die. Wait...are they here? Did you make up that noise? No, they’re really here, crap _ , she thinks. 

The floorboards creak just outside the door where she is hidden. They continue down the hall and she sighs. She carefully cracks open the closet door, peeking her head into the dimly lit hallway. It’s empty, so she steps out, shutting the door behind her. Large arms collapse around her body, and a hand clamps over her mouth.

“There you are, pretty girl,” a voice snarls, “I’ve been following you for a long time. And I can’t wait to play with you.” 


End file.
